poker
by professortennant
Summary: Matthew/Alice, post 5.5: Alice has always been fascinated by the intricacies of poker and Matthew offers to teach her.


Matthew peered at her from behind his handful of cards, watching as she pursed her lips in concentration, brow furrowing, and nose scrunching rather adorably.

She huffed, looking up at him. "I can't concentrate when you're staring like that."

The pile of cards between them had grown and a few coins and crumpled bills sat int he middle of the table, waiting on a victor to claim them. Alice had been most intrigued by the thought of an underground gambling ring, confessing to him that she had never figured out the intricacies of poker and she had a lot of questions.

His invitation to teach her had tumbled from his mouth before he could stop himself and, even seeing her across from him now, he still couldn't believe she was here. He was thankful Lucien and Jean had disappeared to Lucien's study and given them use of the parlor room.

Stretching his leg out in front of him, wincing at the stiffness, he watched her with a small smile playing at his lips. "It's part of the game, Alice _._ You can either focus or you can't. You can either play the game or you can't."

He smiled at her now, more smug than anything. "Now make your move. You can fold-that means I win the pot. You can call-that means you match my bet and we show our cards. Or," he continued, raising the tone of his voice to entice her. "You can bet, or raise. That means you need to-"

She cut him off, throwing a £5 note on the table between them with a triumphant, "Raise."

* * *

Matthew blinked at her. It was a sizable raise compared to the previous bets and it had him baffled. He narrowed his eyes and looked up at her grinning face. Her eyes were sparkling and she looked rather mischievous.

Her tone took on a mocking, teasing quality. "You can either play the game or you can't, Matthew. Now, make your move."

Matthew laughed and peered back down at his cards, considering his hand. She was either bluffing or was over-eager to prove him wrong. Or, he thought, she has the cards. He sighed and thought for a moment, rubbing his hand hand distractedly over his aching leg. This was the problem with playing beginners.

"Does it hurt, still?"

Her soft query startled him and his hand stilled on his leg before he awkwardly returned his hand back to his side. She made a sound of distress, "No! I'm sorry, it's fine. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

The teasing mood between them had faded and in its place sat a heavy, awkward silence. He swallowed thickly, "It's fine. I just don't like looking at it or having others look at it, I suppose."

Some nights he could still feel twisting metal, smell the antiseptic of the hospital, hear the doctors arguing over his leg or his life. Some nights he would awake in a cold sweat, his hands groping under the twisted blankets just to feel his leg, to make sure it was still there. Sensations varied from numbingly dull to overwhelming heightened.

"Matthew?"

She had placed the cards down on the table and had come to settle next to him, resting on her knees and her long, delicate fingers hovering over his leg. He sucked in a harsh breath at the sight, willing himself to be a gentleman.

"Alice, what-"

She licked her lips, nervously and then jutted her chin. "You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. You were injured in the line of duty and you went through something horrific and came out the other end of it stronger. A lot of men have crumbled under less."

His cheeks felt warm under her reassurances and instinctively he wanted to change the subject but Alice's hand had settled over his leg and he hissed. At the sound, she quickly withdrew her hand, attempting to rise up and go back to her seat.

But he didn't want that, not at all. Dropping his cards, he reached out for her. "No, wait."

She settled at the feel of his hand on her shoulder and looked up at him. Alice knew her strong-suit wasn't social interaction and she worried she had crossed a line. But she had always preferred going straight to the heart of a problem and it was obvious Matthew hadn't dealt with his leg yet.

Tentatively, she reached back out and laid her hand upon his thigh. She could feel the heat of his leg through his trousers. Using her finger, she traced over the bumps and ridges and divots evident through the fabric. Her heart twisted even as her brain was going through the medical terminology: torn quadriceps, shattered patella, dimpled collagen.

Above her, Matthew was in a particular place of agony. Her touch was both painful and pleasurable. How long had it been since a woman had touched him this way? Even longer since his own hand had dared touch the gnarled, broken form of his leg.

He groaned as her finger curved around his knee and Alice stopped, abashed. "I'm sorry, Matthew. Curiosity got the better of me, I just wanted to-" She sighed. "I don't know what I wanted to do. I'm sorry."

Curling his finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. "It's alright, Alice. Thank you." She still seemed uncertain and he hated to see the indecision twisting on her face. "I feel better already, truly."

She beamed at him, pleased. For a moment, the moment hung between them: his fingers curled under her chin, their eyes searching the other, and then finally, _finally,_ Alice's eyes flicked down to his lips and Matthew took that as a sign that it was safe to push this further.

He uncurled his fingers and then slid the palm of his hand up to cup her cheek, watching her intently. If he had misread this, if he was making a mistake, this would be disastrous.

Alice's eyes widened and for a brief, panicked moment, Matthew thought he was wrong. She was going to run from him and never look back. The fear must have shown on his face because Alice sighed and turned her face into his hand, eyes fluttering closed.

"Alice," he rasped out. He wanted to be more eloquent like the doc, wanted to monologue for hours about how much he admired her, how he loved her intelligence, how he found her absolutely breathtaking. But with her lips ghosting over his wrist, he found his brain short-circuiting and all he would get out was, "You are so lovely to me."

Alice blushed prettily and Matthew was struck by the thought that she didn't blush enough and promised to himself right there that he would do everything in his power to make her cheeks flush that shade of pink as often as possible.

"Matthew, can I kiss you? Please?"

Her request sent blood rushing to his cock. This beautiful, strong woman wanted to kiss him, was _asking_ if she could kiss him. He nodded, leaning forward as Alice came up on her knees.

Her mouth pressed to his clumsily, his top lip slotting between her lips and his fingernails scraped her cheek, but despite it all, it was perfect. He pulled away and aligned their lips, slanting his mouth over hers. She hummed low in the back of her throat and her hand curled into his hair, holding his mouth against hers.

Her hand still rested on his bad leg and she inadvertently tightened her hold on it, causing him to gasp into her mouth and tear his mouth from hers, panting heavily.

Alice looked horrified. "Matthew, I'm _sorry_. I'm so clumsy, I'm _sorry."_ But he was already kissing her again, mouth silencing her. Her hands fluttered over his shoulders before wrapping around his neck, pressing herself against him.

He pulled away, burying his face in her neck. "Not your fault, sweetheart. It's my _bloody_ _leg_."

Alice flinched at the venom in his voice and she eased away from him, biting back a smile at his groan of protest. She took his hand in hers and stood before tugging at him, easing him off the chair and leading him to the couch. "I have an idea."

Matthew limped over to her, enjoying the gleam in her eye. "Well you are remarkably intelligent, so I'm prone to trusting any idea you may have."

Alice's eyes darkened at his words and she was in his arms again, peppering kisses over his face, hands curled into the fabric of his shirt. "Lay down on the couch, stretch out."

Matthew stiffened, unsure. He held her face in his hands. "Alice, sweetheart, we don't have to do this. Just holding you is enough for me." She cocked his head at him, questioning.

"Matthew, I can't kiss you without hurting you while you're sitting in that chair. And I don't want to hurt you. But," she smiled wolfishly at him. "I _would_ like to keep kissing you. If, if you want to, I mean."

"Oh, yes, sweetheart. I would love to keep kissing you."

Alice smiled at him and for a second, Matthew forgot the pain throbbing in his leg and he felt like he could do anything she asked of him. He hobbled to the couch and stretched out, his hand still in Alice's.

Matthew smiled at her, tugging her to him. She fell upon him, legs on either side of his hips, straddling him. She was mindful to not rest too much of her weight back on his legs. Ducking down, she sealed her mouth over his, sighing at the contact.

His hands smoothed over her back, one hand settling on her hip and the other moving up to bury itself in her hair, holding her close. The warm, heavy weight of her body on his grounded him in the moment. He didn't feel the awkwardness of being in another man's home, didn't feel the throb of his leg, or the aching failings of being the son of a gambling addict.

All he felt was _her_.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their groans, heavy panting, and the soft _pop_ of their separating mouths. His pants were growing uncomfortably tight and he felt his hips instinctively twitching upwards, seeking out friction and heat and Alice.

Her hands were everywhere on his body-trailing down the side of his face, scraping over his chest, slipping under his shirt (when did she tug the shirttails out of his pants?). Her hips were rocking against his and he was very, very close to taking this much further than intended.

Distantly, Matthew knew he should ease this off now before they couldn't stop. The first time he took Alice Harvey, he was going to do it in a bed, not on Lucien Blake's couch.

Just as his mind was going gloriously, mind-numbingly blank at the feel of her sucking a bright red mark into his neck, the sound of a throat clearing made them freeze and slowly break apart and turn their heads to find the source.

Lucien stood in the doorway of the parlor, eyes sparkling in amusement. "It's getting late, I thought I'd give Alice a ride home. But perhaps, you, Matthew, would like to do so?" He gave them another bemused look, shaking his head, stifling a laugh.

Turning on his heel, the doctor bid them goodnight and threw out over his shoulder, "You and I teach poker very different, superintendent."

On the couch, their faces red with embarrassment at being caught on the couch like a couple of randy teenagers, Alice and Matthew set to work of righting their clothes and straightening their hair. When they were presentable, Alice handed him his cane without a word and smiled when he stood and immediately wrapped his free hand around hers, entwining their fingers.

He escorted her to his car, opening the door for her, and then drove her home. The radio filled the easy silence between them and Alice's hand couldn't be stopped from dancing over his thigh and playing with his fingers on the stick shift. Matthew's heart rate picked up again with each touch and he still couldn't believe Alice was there, willingly touching him.

All too soon in his opinion, they had arrived at Alice's flat and he was putting the car into park and opening the door for her. She slid out of the car with a catlike grace and leaned back against the closed passenger door. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling him close for a goodnight kiss.

"Thank you for everything, Matthew."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, mouth dry. He had so much he wanted to tell her, to ask her. He needed to know everything about her. But they had time, all the time in the world.

"It was my pleasure, sweetheart."

Alice beamed at the nickname and he endeavored to use it as often as possible, going forward. Trailing her hand down his chest, she leaned close and whispered, "Maybe next time you can teach me how to play strip poker."

And with that, she placed a kiss to his cheek and strode for the door, leaving him behind.

She was going to be the death of him. _But oh,_ he thought, _what a way to go._


End file.
